


Not That Kind of Contest

by GettheSalt



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, Halloween, Happy AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 10:20:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2543996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettheSalt/pseuds/GettheSalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obligatory Halloween ficlet, inspired by an Halloween prompt list. Forgive me, I miss the OT4, so have some happy AU pumpkin related hijinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not That Kind of Contest

“Are we sure about this?”

Jemma sounds nervous, and maybe she should be. She's standing at the end of the table, arms crossed, watching the event unfolding before her with at least equal parts of amusement and trepidation. Skye, on the other hand, just looks excited, marching into the room with two plastic bowls.

“Oh, come on. Ward's trained not to damage anything but what he's stabbing, and Fitz...” she pauses, and it's long enough for Fitz to look away from where he's glaring a challenge across the table at Ward, giving her a quizzical look. “Well, I don't think he's gonna stab anything _too_ psychotically, right?”

“Right,” Fitz draws out the word, mixing in just the right amount of annoyance. He grabs the bowl she sets down and pulls it closer, setting it next to his pumpkin, and turns back to Ward, quirking an eyebrow. “Well?”

For his part, Ward gives Fitz a level look. The carving knife in his other hand turns over and over, slow, like he isn't thinking about it. He definitely is, though, of that Jemma is sure. He's showing off, for no reason than to show off.

“Honestly, you two, you're rather aware of how large the other's penis is, is this measuring contest really necessary?”

Her words have two immediate effects.

One, Skye bursts out laughing. Two, Fitz and Ward look at her quick, the knife in Ward's hand clattering to the tabletop.

“This is _not_ a dick measuring contest,” Ward argues, turning to the table again and picking the knife back up. “This is a...”

The three of them wait a few seconds. And then a few more.

“He can't even say it.” Skye grins, and leans forward against the edge of the table. “It's a _pumpkin carving contest_ , Ward. Embrace it. You're doing it.”

His only answer, to Skye at least, is a scowl. To Fitz, he points the knife, and says, “You're going down.”

Jemma sighs, and sits at the edge of the table. Skye props her hip against Jemma's side, and raises her phone. “You ready, Fitz?”

Without breaking eye contact with Ward, Fitz nods, and lines up his own knife along one of the black lines he traced onto the pumpkin while Skye was getting the bowls.

“On your mark...”

Ward sets his knife against his own pumpkin.

“...Get set...”

“Don't break up over this, you two,” Jemma says, only half-joking. She knows how competitive Fitz can be, and it will be rather awkward for the four of them to share the townhouse if those two are on the outs.

“Carve!” Skye yells, and both Fitz and Ward set into motion, pushing their knives into the pumpkins, and beginning the process of carving the lids out of them. It's a much slower and more exacting process than Skye originally conceived, and within the first minute she's whining and dropping into Jemma's lap.

“I'm bored.”

“Carve a pumpkin of your own, then,” Ward says, finishing the circle around the top of the pumpkin and setting the lid aside, the knife with it. “Instead of goading Fitz and I into doing all the work for you.”

“Goading?” Skye asks, looping an arm around Jemma's shoulders. “Who said anything about goading?”

“It was rather obvious,” Fitz joins in, removing his own lid, and not hesitating to shove his hand inside the pumpkin. The sleeves of his plaid button-up have been rolled to his elbows since he and Ward started bickering back and forth about who could carve a better and quicker pumpkin. It definitely gives him an edge over Ward, who is only just finishing pulling the hems of his henley up around his elbows.

“He has a point, love,” Jemma mentions. Skye frowns at her, and she shrugs slightly. “At least we're getting carved pumpkins out of it.”

“Pure manipulation,” Fitz mutters, dropping a handful of pumpkin guts and seeds into the bowl at his side. “Make the men do all the work.” He flicks his wrist, quick, and a glob of orange innards flies from his fingers...

...And right into Ward's face.

Everyone freezes for a second, watching the dark-haired man reach up to brush the offending pumpkin from his cheek. It stays on his fingers, for a second, before he flicks it back at Fitz. It misses its mark, but that doesn't stop Fitz from reaching for his bowl.

“Oh no.” Jemma breathes. She can already see where this is going, and they didn't bother to put down plastic, or anything.

“Whoops,” Skye says, but her face says she is anything but regretful, while Fitz tosses a glob of pumpkin guts at Ward. It hits him in the shoulder with a wet splat, dropping to the floor.

Ward reaches into his pumpkin, tears out a chunk, seeds and all, and lobs it back. It hits Fitz in the chest, and that's it. They're both grinning, challenging each other, hands going for more ammo.

Skye gets up out of Jemma's lap, darting behind the kitchen chair, and tugs her along, laughing the whole time. A pair of splats hit the back of the chair where they were sitting, before the boys go back to emptying their pumpkins by throwing the insides at each other.

“This is a mess,” Jemma says, but she's laughing.

“It's great!” Skye counters, before bending down to grab a glob off the floor, tossing it at Ward. It hits him in the back and he turns, giving Fitz the perfect opening to dig his fingers into his pumpkin, and, hoist himself onto the table, reaching across to slap the mess in his hand directly into Ward's hair. It's a mistake, because it doesn't take Ward a second to reach over, swing an arm around his waist, and keep Fitz close while he pushes his own handful of pumpkin through those curls.

It's a nasty mess, and it's everywhere, but they're laughing, all of them. The pumpkins are basically emptied, the knives forgotten at the far end of the table, next to the lids. But that's as far as it got.

“You two,” Jemma states, watching while Ward helps Fitz over onto his side of the table, keeping an arm around him the whole time. “Are absolute messes. You're going to need showers.”

“Or _a_ shower,” Fitz says, looking up at Ward.

The taller man grins, and nods, lacing his fingers with Fitz's with an audible _squish_ , pulling him towards the stairs. Skye groans, loud and exasperated.

“Only you two would be turned on by pumpkin guts!”

Neither of them answer her, quick-marching up the stairs. Jemma eyes the table, scooping up a handful of innards in her hand. There are pros and cons to what she's considering, but she ignores all of them, smushing the wad against Skye's shoulder. The other gasps, and spins around, mocking massive offense.

“Want to find out if they aren't the only ones who get aroused by pumpkin guts?”

A smirk curves Skye's lips briefly before she leans forward, brushing them against Jemma's. “Or we could skip that part and make use of our alone time.”

Jemma has to admit, she likes Skye's idea a lot better.


End file.
